


So She Married the King

by idiosyncratic1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Tourney at Harrenhal, F/M, Gen, queen of the north
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:43:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiosyncratic1/pseuds/idiosyncratic1
Summary: Never, you will wed the King.What Maggy said, so shall be.Tywin Lannister conspires against his Mad King while Rickard Stark begins realizing southron ambitions. Thus, Cersei finds herself betrothed - not to Rhaegar as she had dreamed - but to Brandon Stark of Winterfell, setting off a chain of events that none foresaw.She becomes Queen, yes, not of the Seven Kingdoms, but of the North - a concession she will have to get used to.  But who says that the lion cannot tame the wolf?





	So She Married the King

Retaliation.

That was the driving force behind her father’s eyes as he tells her that Rhaegar will marry Elia of Dorne but that she will be wed to Brandon Stark of Winterfell.

“You promised I would be queen,” Cersei seethes. Her lips in a pout and her small lithe hands bunching her skirts in little indignant fists.

The edges of his lips turn up, a smile - almost, a rarity that shocks Cersei for a moment until she sees that it is not of happiness but not without joy. A simple display of satisfaction on his lips. “You will be - You will be Queen of the North. Your son will sit at Winterfell and your daughter marry the next king.”

His vision of the world passes across his eyes, but that vision was not what Cersei wanted. 

“What of Jaime?” she asks. 

“He’s squiring in the Riverlands, so he’ll marry a Tully,” her father says in a casual, unaffected matter as he peers through his books.  He utters something more but her anger blinds and deafens her.

She will have Jaime.

She only has Jaime. It has already been too long without him.

She asks for her leave and her mind fills with stratagems with every step.

Right before they are about to embark from King’s Landing for good, she discovers rumors of an indiscretion at Riverrun. So she immediately asks her father whether he wants second-hand goods from Hoster Tully or the sole female heir to Winterfell.

He puts a pensive hand about his chin as he considers it; and Cersei knows she has won.

She is fourteen.

* * *

He is handsome.

Cersei can admit that much, though, not as handsome as Jaime is and will be. She thinks this as he makes his way to her through the crowds.

The din of festivities fill the air - the first feast of the Tourney of Harrenhal is in full swing. Her father’s bannermen drink and guffaw at the highest pitches of the night, while he and Rickard Stark share modest nods and furtive whispers. Ladies from every noble house sit in antsy anticipation to be asked for a dance. Knights roar in unison at shared japes. Skirts twirl; pints of beer and ale are passed around; music swells.

Brandon Stark reaches out his hand to take her knuckles to his lips.

Like a song, like a story, the whole moment spills forth with magyk and craving.

His features are sharp; his grey eyes nearly and wholy bewitching as he smiles down at her. He is _thoroughly_ pleased with what he sees.  

She feels no need to act demurely and smiles with satisfaction as she assesses him like a new mare. Then she is pleased to find that every inch of him is just as gratifying. He is tall, broad and quick to smile with infinite charm.

She has never met a man who possesses all that Brandon Stark does.

He is _very_ handsome, she decides now that he is all close. Then he pushes closer and brings his lips just a breath from her ear, her hand still gripped in his.

“My lady,” he whispers at the softest growl.

A heavy fluttering sigh silently leaves her lips as all sorts of desires burst from the inching yet bellowing feelings in her stomach. For a moment, she forgets everything, her father, her plans, her Jaime - who she set upon Lyanna just an hour prior and had grown upset to see them laughing together with such ease.

It all fades as she stares into his grey eyes.

“My lord,” she manages to whisper.

Her lord asks, “Would you like to dance?”

“Mayhaps,” she retorts as he returns to a more proper distance.

He smirks well-meaningly. “How shall I convince you then, my dear lioness?”

She smirks back.

She is fifteen.

* * *

She does not like the North, Cersei determines when she exits the wheelhouse into the courtyard of Winterfell as her skirts fall into the mud.

But it is her wedding and she is - she knows - the most beautiful woman these Northerners have ever seen.

The cold bothered her. The heart tree irked her. The Northmen vexed her.

Her good-sister nettles her but in only that the horse-girl is clever but there is no deceit in her japes or the stories of war heroes she and Jaime share.

But she does not want to tolerate Lyanna just yet.

The feast is as grand as the North can manage but despite the mediocrity of her nuptials, Cersei notes that her father looks unbelievably pleased that she is now in grey and white.

And even as the bedding ceremony commences, her attention is to her father, not to the smelly, drunk men grabbing at her clothes - but he is too preoccupied with the eager whispers he shares with Lord Rickard Stark to even look at her.

But then, in their chambers, Brandon holds her taut against him and all those thoughts evaporate into the air as the warmth of Winterfell embraces her.

Then when he beds her, he is rough enough to make her scream but good enough to make her moan.

He cries her name out over and over. “Cersei, gods, Cersei-.”

For a moment, as he blankets her back with his chest, fucking her senseless - Cersei forgets about Jaime.

 _Completely_.

The wolf’s name leaves her lips in a scream caught in her throat.

He takes her three more times that night and she rides him during the second.

“A lion indeed - you’re a beast, lady-wife,” he snarled, full of satiation, before releasing a groan as she rolls her hips against his with him still inside her.

“Who’s making a wolf mewl like a pup,” she returns.

He laughs into the air before he takes hold of her and turns her so that she lands upon their bed beneath him.

The Wild Wolf devours her neck with bites and kisses that make her shiver and gasp as he enters her again and again until she whimpers at her peak.

The next morning she wakes as her husband nuzzles into her hair and whispers his adoration.

She is sixteen when she marries the King of the North.

* * *

Justice.

He claims as he stands abruptly and slams his fists onto the table.

Cersei does not flinch and simply lays a hand on the swell of her stomach. “Calm down,” she whispers.  

“I will calm down when Lyanna is returned and justice is realized,” he seethes at her, rage flooding his senses. “What is your bloody brother doing?”

“My father and my brother are most likely calling our bannermen, Brandon,” she seethes back with equal venom. “Wait for your father to return and then march down and take her - _and_ the kingdom - back.”

At this, he tempers like hot steel in water - suddenly and with purpose. She smiles at this. He turns to her to listen.

She chooses her words carefully and mutters with shaded eyes, “You were always destined to be the King in the North; perhaps our son has a higher destiny.” Her hands span back and forth across the expanse of her belly.

His eyes glint with disbelief then settle into pride. “Have you been listening in to our fathers’ conferences?”

She scoffs. “It does not take a maester to know what our marriage was for.”

He laughs into the air and strides to her in two quick easy steps, puts his bark-like hands upon her cheeks and kisses her firmly.

“Indeed, the gods - old and new - have blessed me with the best wife in all the kingdoms - the most clever and beautiful Cersei Lannister.” He says this with such fondness, such passion, with all the strength and force of his wild person. He gazes into her eyes and his hands settle across her stomach.

So she grants him this. “Cersei _Stark_ , my lord-husband, lest you forget.”

“ _My_ Cersei. My queen. I will never forget,” he asserts with pride aflame in his eyes.

He is her wolf. She is his lion.

He does not need to know about Jaime or about Barbrey, Cersei decides as her husband kisses her lips and entwines his fingers into her golden hair.

She also decides to forget about Jaime and Barbrey.

She is seventeen when she is Queen.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, Cersei did something to Barbrey - but I'm still trying to figure out what exactly.  
> I really enjoy reading Cersei/Ned fics so it brought me to think about what would happen if Cersei married Brandon instead. I might continue with this and eventually make it Cersei/Ned but we'll see how well it is received. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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